Long iceberg of guilt

 THE BANSHEES OF INISHERIN (2022)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"I am an Irish Catholic and I have a long iceberg of guilt" 

                                                        - Irish novelist Edna O'Brien

In the miserable fictional island of Inisherin, off of the coast of the extraordinarily beautiful landscape of Ireland, there is nothing to do other than drink a pint and, well, read? There are the rocky beds off the beaten paths leading to one farmhouse in the distance after another. Guilt seems to exist but only on the periphery of anyone's mind - you feel guilty? Drink a pint. Such is the case with the blackly funny and tremendously evocative and intimate film about people in the Irish community of Inisherin, "The Banshees of Inisherin," which is set in 1923 right around the end of the Irish Civil War. 

One of the dullest men in Inisherin is Pádraic Súilleabháin (Colin Farrell), a very nice, easygoing farmer with cows and a precious donkey wearing a bell that always enters the home. Pádraic lives with his sister, the feisty Siobhán (Kerry Condon), who longs for a way out of Inisherin and can't stand having the donkey in the house. Pádraic frequents the local pub every day and discovers that his best friend, Colm (Brendan Gleeson), no longer likes him. Colm is not dying or anything that grave that would explain his sudden remove from him - he just finds Pádraic dull. Of course, everyone is dull in this island yet Colm finds that his fiddle playing and musical compositions will be long remembered just like Mozart's, instead of being remembered for being "nice." Pádraic can't stand the fact that this has happened, and the film's running gag is that Pádraic keeps running into Colm. At first, it is just comedic and borderline pathetic but then it becomes deadly serious to the point that Colm threatens Padraic by cutting one of his own fingers and throwing it at Pádraic's front door! Surely that pathetic man who milks cows will learn to leave Colm alone. Not so fast.

"Banshees of Inisherin" would've been welcome and entrancing viewing had it just been about Pádraic and Colm yet it also focuses on Siobhán, a spinster of sorts who needs a life away from the coast, the people and especially the eldest resident of this overcast, gloomy island, Mrs. McCormick (Sheila Flitton) who portends doom between Colm and Pádraic. Siobhán finds a job at a library away from the mainland - it is her freedom that leaves everyone else behind, some of whom are tormented by their own self-imposed guilt (the constable who beats his own son is one such person). 

Colin Farrell has never been better - an actor I've had reservations about in the past but this role of the nice Pádraic and his killer Penguin role from "The Batman" makes 2022 his best year ever. Brendan Gleeson carries the weight of his indifferent Colm in his whole manner of being - he aims high for the creation of art yet friendship to anyone, and the loss of his precious appendages, has to take a backseat. Kerry Condon is the sympathetic sister who can be fierce and will not tolerate her brother's inability to stand up for himself - hard to believe this is the same actress from the TV series "Better Call Saul." 

I always love Irish stories and "The Banshees of Inisherin" is one I will not soon forget. The intense drama and conflict amongst these lost souls is etched in every frame and is adroitly handled by director Martin McDonagh ("In Bruges"), in direct contrast with the staggering landscape which portends its own doom. The unapologetic sense of guilt from Colm, Pádraic and Siobhán will persist, a long iceberg of it. 

Heaven on our minds

 JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR (1973)

An Appreciation by Jerry Saravia

The "Jesus Christ Superstar" double LP soundtrack album with astounding photo stills from the 1973 film production was one of my fondest memories from the 1970's, and it was the first major musical I adored and revisited and listened to over and over. The film itself always seemed more obscure than the album to me and, when I saw the film during that period, it struck me with its electric energy and even more energetic songs that pulsated and rocked with such verve that their lyrics never quite escaped me. 2023 will be the 50th anniversary of this film and, though I can't say I remember the Tim Rice lyrics with the same clarity I once did, I still was put in that ethereal groove I felt back then watching yet again. 

I am not sure it is the best musical ever made but it is the most emotionally sound, heartbreakingly memorable musical I've ever seen. It is so memorable that I can't imagine this fervent rock opera working in any other way other than being sung yet it strangely never feels like the heartfelt lyrics are being sung, rather they are being performed with the soulful purpose of reaching out to the most jaded person and making it a spirited spiritual experience the likes of which I have not seen since. The atmosphere of its Israeli surroundings with its rocky formations, mountainous regions, outside temples with just a few barren columns and cave dwellings with a single shaft of light makes everything breathe cinematically - there are no fabricated stages with sunlit or sunset backgrounds colored in. Everything in this film feels real and in the spur of the moment as if we just happened to catch these Biblical figures in action while the story of Christ unfolds. 

Sure, there may be minute flaws. Perhaps Ted Neely as a passive, shouting Messiah is not everyone's cup of tea though his anger at the money changers in the temple is understandable. The modern day trappings of Roman guards with machine guns aimed at the Apostles, who look like hippies wandering in from Woodstock, may strike some as anachronistic though levelling such a charge at the film is silly when you see they are all actors arriving by bus from the start and putting on a helluva show. There is also a comical showstopper that teeters on the edge of burlesque with Josh Mostel's flamboyant King Herod. But these are such trivialities because the whole film is a towering spiritual experience that will likely make you appreciate Jesus Christ so much more. Between Carl Anderson's Judas as the betrayer with a far sympathetic soul than we have seen before to Yvonne Elliman's amazingly transformative Mary Magdalene whose very voice carries such beauty and becalming power to Barry Dennen's somewhat sympathetic yet vicious Pontius Pilate, "Jesus Christ Superstar" also frames director Norman Jewison as one of our best directors of musicals as well having previously directed the rousing "Fiddler on the Roof." It is a shatteringly emotional and deeply electrifying experience and renews one's faith in the power of music as soul-enriching, leaving heaven on one's mind.  

Family unit resonates over Spielberg's early filmmaking days

 THE FABELMANS (2022)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

It has been over 20 plus years now since Steven Spielberg found new ways of involving and engaging his audience without underscoring every moment with tear inducement; that is to say, tearjerking them by manipulation. It is obvious in "E.T. - The Extra-Terrestrial" which might be his first major genuine tearjerker where the tears flow thanks to his astute direction and John Williams' sonic, overpowering score. Yet such manipulation never felt like I was being jerked around (the sole exception is the overstuffed, heavily maudlin "Hook"). "The Fabelmans" is Spielberg's own personal take on his childhood, the dreamer who saw a world of movies below his feet yet it is no tearjerker. "Fabelmans" is Spielberg at his most restrained with a far more reflexive bone in its narrative body - a way of looking in without feeling like you need to be jerked around. It can be frustrating but it is never less than compelling. 

Cecil B. De Mille's "The Greatest Show on Earth" was the young Sammy Fabelman's kid first cinematic attraction and what astounded him was the horrific train collision in that film. This is a different kind of manipulation - jerking us around with action-filled, dramatic scenes. This kid wants to make his newly acquired electric train set to endure the same chaotic crash as seen in the film and the mother, Mitzi (Michelle Williams), wants to film it. It is filmed once, twice, all with different angles. Sammy Fabelman has learned the tools of the trade and the most principle one - an editing strategy. Later on, there are other events that certainly mirror Spielberg's cinematic epics such as a tornado that leads to a scene where a few shopping carts ride by the street in unison - an echo there of Spielberg's remake of "War of the Worlds." Only Sammy is not capturing these moments with a camera, only with his own amazed eyes (and seen from his mother's point of view). There are many moments in Sammy's life that are not captured with an 8mm camera or a 16mm Bolex camera or whatever he can get ahold of. Young Sammy is often witnessing life through his own lens. 

The Fabelmans move from Arizona to California with the quirky, depressed Mitzi wishing her best friend could be with them, referred to as "Uncle" Benny (Seth Rogen, who has never been more lovable on screen). The Fabelman Father (Paul Dano) is on a career path as a computer engineer who goes where the money is, regardless of what the family wants. Mitzi loses control of herself, unable to get out of bed or cook or shop for the family (in all fairness, Mitzi can't wash dishes either because of her piano-playing hands which is why they all eat with paper plates). She misses Benny yet no one is aware of her attraction to him until Sammy discovers the truth through the filmed excerpts of the family's last camping trip. This creates discord between Sammy and Mitzi, and eventually causes the breakdown of the family. In other words, we are seeing the themes of an absent dad and an impending divorce as we often saw in Spielberg's own films (Footnote: it wasn't revealed until very recently that his dad was not the reason for the actual divorce, the mother wanted out and we also see how that plays out here as well).

"The Fabelmans" is not a typical coming-of-age movie but rather a coming-of-age-and-understanding-of-the-family-unit kind of movie. Not that we have not seen the parental discord leading to divorce drama before but this is Spielberg's firsthand account of it, and a lot of times it felt more raw than sentimental, more nakedly emotional and understated than manipulative. The scenes of a seeming familial bliss and the emotional turmoil that follows are nothing new either but they are adapted very strongly (Sammy's sisters get their scenes in there as well). Michelle Williams is something of a revelation as Mitzy, a woman fighting her depression for wanting to be with the man she loves yet still maintaining her love for her children (don't be shocked if she wins Best Actress Oscar). Paul Dano is more straight-arrow than I've ever seen before and does a commendable job as the busy father, Burt, who doesn't approve of his son's filmmaking skills as anything other than a hobby. I also found Gabriel LaBelle quite appealing and honest as our future popular film director who stands up for himself and sees a future in filmmaking, especially in knowing how his audience of friends and family react to them. The scene where he convinces his dad that the passion for the work they do is similar is exemplary. Even more gratifying is a powerful cameo by Judd Hirsch as an actual uncle who warns Sammy that art will supersede family, it always does ("You love this more.")

Still, something nagged me about "The Fabelmans" - it left me feeling a little cold despite how absorbed I was by it. The movie is Spielberg's most confined, most closed-off film in terms of emotions and perhaps I was not expecting that from the Spielman. The emotions are apparent yet they are far-reaching - you kind of have to reach from within yourself to grasp what is at stake with the Fabelmans. In many ways, this is Spielberg aiming more for the reserved, cooly depicted emotions of John Cassavetes (the astounding image of Mitzi in front of a car's headlights as she dances to her heart's content reminded of Gena Rowlands, Cassavetes' wife). That is not to say I was not moved by the film but I still felt at a bit of a remove from it - it is more moving in reflection than while you are watching it. Spielberg has been more reserved with emotional climaxes for the last twenty years or so, finding restraint to be his mantra. It is a film of measured resonance and we never quite feel the flight of fancy of Sammy's triumph of spirit over making movies as his camera slowly becomes the observer and not just a spectacle imagemaker - he feels joy only towards the end after meeting the eyepatch-wearing director of westerns, John Ford. Is Spielberg suggesting that he felt no exultation from his early filmmaking days? Still, I came away with a better understanding of Spielberg's loving family unit than his filmmaking obsession. Maybe Spielberg is suggesting that he was not as obsessed over the art form as he was over his mother's happiness and finding it was all too difficult since he couldn't comprehend complex adult emotions. The last scene between mother and son is not captured with Sammy's film camera (he does show her the film of her private moments with Benny early on) but instead Spielberg's - as I stated earlier, Sammy is not filming every moment of his life. Maybe it is Spielberg's attempt at understanding himself. I just came away with a better understanding of his mother.

Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody has been Ruined

GOING CLEAR: SCIENTOLOGY AND THE PRISON OF BELIEF (2015)
Reviewed by Jerry Saravia 

The real question in "Going Clear: Scientology and the Prison of Belief" is if Scientology is a religion or a cult, or both. I would say both, but I beg to differ that it is much of a religion. Alex Gibney's forceful, scarily provocative documentary "Going Clear" sees Scientology as a tax-exempt institution of physical and emotional abuse, neglect, and downright stupidity. One can argue that the religion offers comfort for those who want a world of joy and no war, and one can also argue that its stringent methods against those who wish to leave or stay are of a cult of personality.

The late science-fiction author, L. Ron Hubbard (who wrote "Dianetics," the foundation behind Scientology), is depicted as an abusive lout of a man who threatened suicide if his first wife left him. During his tumultuous marriage where he even kidnapped their baby, he decided to create a religion that would be tax-exempt, thus allowing him to charge people high rates for joining the religion, The Church of Scientology (which had its roots in Camden, New Jersey). Eventually, the church grew and expanded to Los Angeles and around the world, attracting many people including celebrities such as John Travolta and the virtual spokesman himself, actor Tom Cruise. 

People who are indoctrinated are subjected to audits where they are interviewed in a therapy session and their emotional responses are measured by an "E-meter." Any traumatic past memories are brought to the table and examined, and re-examined and re-examined, until the subject is free and "clear." What is noteworthy is that, according to actor Jason Beghe, an ex-Scientologist, these audits would continue on and on. When a Scientologist would reach a certain level called an OT level, a briefcase would be deployed containing references to Xenu, the galactic overlord of 75 millions years ago who had brought alien souls to Planet Earth and that humans inhabit their souls, or some such thing. It is what I always thought - aliens have always been here and Tom Cruise is a supernatural alien being indeed.

Based on Lawrence Wright's book, there are sections of "Going Clear" that made me laugh and other moments that made me cringe and feel a tinge of horror. Watching Tom Cruise in an audience of thousands salute a picture of L. Ron Hubbard is both laughable and scary at the same time - what is with this military salute? Even the top-level Scientologists are shown in military uniforms that look like they are ready to conquer Poland. Ex-top-level Scientologist Marty Rathbun explains the torment he had to suffer by the hand of David Miscavige (the current leader), how he had to spy on the SP's (Suppresive Persons, those who leave and criticize the religion), set Tom Cruise up with a girlfriend (that remains the creepiest episode) and even tap Nicole Kidman's phone! Most telling is writer-director Paul Haggis ("Crash") who had been a member for 35 years yet when he learned of the mythology surrounding it, he laughed and could not take it seriously. Still, during those 35 years, how long did it take to reach that OT level where you say, "What in God's name is going on here?" 

"Going Clear" has already been deemed as anti-Scientology propaganda by, you guessed it, spokespersons of the Scientology movement (no current members were interviewed for the documentary). But it is hard to believe that ex-Scientologists, who have decided to take a stand and inform the public of this pseudo-religion, are untrustworthy or have an ax to grind. How can one disbelief that members perform menial jobs for 40 cents an hour? How can one disbelief that people who leave the religion are spied on, and for what purpose exactly? How can one disbelief that Travolta and Cruise are two superstar celebrities who are in too deep to ever just willingly walk away, thanks to endless audits that are far too personal and possibly damaging to their reputations? One aspect I walked away with from this stunningly edited and extremely eerie documentary is that if you are going to start a religion, make sure you fight tooth and nail to keep the IRS out of your backyard. The war is over for them, but the war on this most damaging religion has just begun. That, and now this film has ruined Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" for me. 

No Free Ride

 TO WRITE LOVE ON HER ARMS (2012)
Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

A movie about a young woman cutting herself to feel something, or to escape from her own fake reality, might be not be fitting for average viewers. I always preferred Roger Ebert's truthful statement about cinema where the most depressing movie is usually a bad one. Surprisingly, for a gritty independent film, "To Write Love On Her Arms" is not a depressing movie and hardly an unremittingly bleak one. It is not exactly upbeat but it does have the spunky attitude of Kat Dennings to carry the movie on her shoulders and give it a piercing heart. 

Based on the true story of Renee Yohe and the global movement her story spurred, Dennings tackles the Renee role, playing a woman who has two close, devoted friends, Jesse and Dylan (Juliana Harkavy and Mark Saul) who watch over her. Sometimes, Renee is sucked into the world of partying with people who do not have her best interests at heart. She ingests cocaine, ecstasy and imagines a creative world where a drug dealer is sprouting wings! She envisions wondrous sights and has pastoral visions and imagines high-school students dancing and singing along to her favorite songs - any and everything to demolish her inner demons. Renee is sometimes photographed as an princess with a glow to mask her darkness, and other times she is reclusive, hiding beneath her hoodie and her headphones in a cold, brutal harsh world. 

"To Write Love on Her Arms" eventually segues into the rehab world where Renee has to struggle with ending her drug addictions and making the right choices. Can she lift herself up from her doldrums, from her inability to cope with what's gnawing at her? Remarkably, and thankfully, the movie never settles on a resolution nor is she willing to accept that her story should have initiated a movement. Jamie Tworkowski (played with a winsome beat by Chad Michael Murray) sees Renee as a dominant force that others can look up to. He writes a blog about her story and a movement is born. In a tricky and powerful scene, we see Renee's confusion after getting out of rehab and seeing Jamie again who now has a girlfriend - one surmises that she hoped for a romantic relationship with Jamie. The scene does not end the way we expect - Kat Dennings consistently keeps us on our toes and we hope she doesn't keep injuring herself when things don't go her way.

The film ably swings from dark tones to far darker recesses of Renee's fantasy world (she imagines cracks forming in her bedroom mirror) to a supposedly sunnier disposition, at least visually when Renee is shown in sun-drenched, rosier images. Dennings starts to look less inhibited and less willing to hide from herself but these are still baby steps. Swiftly directed by Nathan Frankowski, the film never sugarcoats rehab or addiction. When Renee can't work up the enthusiasm to read emails from those who have suffered like her, she is more willing to help another recovering addict, David (Rupert Friend), a stressed-out band manager who lets her stay in his loft provided she stays clean for five days prior to rehab entry. The heartbeat and soul of "To Write Love On Her Arms" is that a recovering addict with bipolar disorder has looked outward as well inward. Renee develops compassion and freedom and it isn't a free ride. 

"To Write Love On Her Arms" occasionally preaches its message with religious underpinnings. Dennings makes it down-to-earth and real. It is a struggle for the movie, but definitely a struggle we can stand to hear about more often.

I can win this case!

 THE VERDICT (1982)

An Appreciation by Jerry Saravia

"The Verdict" is Sidney Lumet's greatest film, an absolutely keen, sharply observed and absorbing character study of a troubled man who is ready to give up. It takes a lot for this drunk pathetic man, Frank Galvin (Paul Newman), to finally call it quits. He was once a prominent Boston lawyer who became an alcoholic ambulance chaser. The alcohol from day to day is all it takes for him keep living, not necessarily to keep living with any purpose. Frank frequents the same bar every day, has a beer with an  egg in it and keeps moving, but to what end. It isn't clean living.

What is of paramount greatness in "The Verdict" is that the court case itself, which is a stunningly layered, fascinating case, could have been excised from the David Mamet script and just have focused on Frank Galvin. Frank's life is one of ruin, working out of a disheveled office with gray, scratched walls, an old burgundy red couch he can sleep on, and a desk with filing cabinets. His home life is not without discoloration or messiness - bars are on his windows, as if to keep himself shut out of life's miseries. Frank frequents a bar and plays the pinball machine and, in the opening title sequence, he is practically shrouded in darkness with the daylight barely illuminating him or the machine. An outside park is shown with few pedestrians (a similar shot later on where Frank is victorious at the pinball shows one person walking by). Director Sidney Lumet intended on having a Caravaggio-based, chiaroscuro look with a single source of light filling in the interior rooms such as the bar, the courtroom, etc. But whatever victory is in Frank's life involving the case of a comatose woman who was given the wrong anesthetic by two different doctors may be short-lived. Frank is a bit scared, a little unprepared for this case and rather than taking an enormous payout from the Archdiocese, he opts to go to trial and go up against the wealthy defending attorney Ed Concannon ("The Prince of Darkness" as played wonderfully and wittily by the great James Mason). Concannon plays tough, utilizing media and newspapers at his disposal along with a major research team of lawyers while Frank only has  his former legal partner/mentor, Mickey Morrissey (absolutely brilliant and sympathetic work by Jack Warden) to help win the case. This dichotomy shows that finances have little regard when it comes to the little guy who can stand up for what is right. 

The ending can be seen for miles but it is not just a victory for Frank as an able lawyer again, it is a victory for him to rise above his liquor-drenched ashes and return to his former glory (his past was already tainted when he allegedly was involved with jury tampering). Frank is like a phoenix rising yet writer Mamet and director Lumet never stray from his alcohol-binging - a drink and a smoke at his favorite bar is his pastime. When he confronts the seductive Laura (Charlotte Rampling, alluring as a quietly effective femme fatale of sorts) who has an affair with Frank and he ends it (after finding out she works for Concannon) with physical violence, it is further proof that he is reawakened to how many lies there are in the search for justice - never trust anyone and that is his true redemption. Frank still believes in justice and we still believe he may have a drink in the future but he will try to remain sharp, hopefully avoiding funeral homes for potential clients. Justice may be blind but he's not. 

Charming with a well of tears to fill Niagara Falls

 SNOOPY COME HOME (1972)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Watching the Peanuts gang, including Charlie Brown, Peppermint Patty, Linus with that silly blanket and everyone else, cry with repetition at the prospect of losing Snoopy, their precious beagle, to his former owner is a bit of an endurance test for the average viewer. Kids will still enjoy because Snoopy and Woodstock make a good pair.

As an animated feature, "Snoopy Come Home" is not as much fun as 1969's "A Boy Named Charlie Brown" yet there's still sufficient enjoyment to be had. Snoopy is who he is, always sleeping belly up atop his doghouse as opposed to sleeping in it - he loves to play on the beach and loves to annoy his owner, Charlie Brown, whom he communicates via his typewriter. After our trusty beagle receives a letter from his previous owner named Lila (this always came as a shock to me), who is sick in the hospital, Snoopy takes off with the ever-trusting best friend, a tiny yellow bird named Woodstock of course (this was his film debut). Meanwhile Charlie Brown, Lucy and the whole gang wonder where Snoopy is, and they mope around waiting for his arrival.

My one gripe is that the Peanuts gang are not as well-characterized as they were previously in "A Boy Named Charlie Brown." Snoopy and Woodstock are the stars of this film, and there are several humorous touches such as Snoopy getting into some ruckus with a girl named Clara who wants him as a pet! They run around, back and forth, as they enter and exit several rooms in her house. I also love how Woodstock is somehow obsessive-compulsive about walking on each divider of a subway grate. Snoopy and Woodstock steal the show yet we are then saddled with the gangs' crying fits and excessive sobbing about Snoopy leaving Charlie for Lila (of course, you know this will not stand for long) and the beagle receives many parting gifts. This section simply goes on for too long - their tears would fill the Niagara Falls. Still, "Snoopy Come Home" is such a charming film with so much humanity and love that it is easy to see why we all love Peanuts.  

Sahara via Mayan Myth

 FATA MORGANA (1971)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Expansive, repetitious and sometimes mind-numbingly dull, "Fata Morgana" is not for all tastes nor will it be for all Werner Herzog devotees. An experimental film dealing with Mayan-creation myths coupled with the vastness of the Sahara Desert could have worked but I find Herzog doesn't have the knack to know when to quit. There are flashes of brilliance though.

Separated in three sections accordingly, the first is "Creation," the second is "Paradise" and the third is "The Golden Age." Peculiarity doesn't begin to this describe this visual odyssey of desert landscape, some of it quite breathtaking. However, I could have lived without the narration by Lotte Eisner (a German film critic and Herzog's mentor) to bring forth what was initially a science-fiction story that looks mostly like a travelogue of the Sahara and other parts of Africa. There are shots of mutilated animals, half-eaten remains of camels, kids dragging small dogs with a rope leash and posing for the camera or pointing to the sand by the beach, half-finished construction sites, sea turtles, hungry lizards, and many mirages of vehicles and buses and people in the horizon. 

The "Creation" episode is soporific without enough spatial desert scenes beyond endless tracking shots. In fact, this section starts with planes landing in an airfield, one after another until they become "mirages." Once we get past this major lull, "Paradise" and "The Golden Age" become far more engaging because we see the inhabitants of this arid region amidst broken down cargo planes and cars. The narration carries on and most of it is not analogous to the images, perhaps purposefully so (“In Paradise, you quarrel with strangers to avoid making friends.”). A brothel stage with a man humming a tune wearing goggles while the madam is at the piano feels like something out of a David Lynch film (no context is provided for this scene, which is only something I came across in my research. For all I knew, this could have been some musical act at a ramshackle bar). 

I wish Herzog let the images speak for themselves rather than choosing a religious context but one has to remember that he shot what he could for a different kind of film and chose another avenue. I have no idea what any of it means (and I much prefer Godfrey Reggio's "Koyaanisqatsi") and, though it can be a tough slog to get through its 79 minutes, I still found it sort of semi-alluring. 

I, Madman

WOYZECK (1979)
Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Klaus Kinski's penetrating, unblinking (literally and otherwise) eyes are like a force of nature that will eviscerate your soul. When Kinski appears in a Werner Herzog film, attention must be paid because both leading actor and director are madmen who chew up the silver screen with wild, audacious tales of madmen - Madmen making madmen movies. That has been their stock in trade and whether it was the lyrical, deadeningly brilliant "Nosferatu" or the creeping-to-a-crawl intensity and inevitability of "Aguirre: The Wrath of God," Kinski rose to the task of Herzog's demands. "Woyzeck" is a creepy curiosity that has themes of jealousy and madness in equal measure and Kinski gives the performance equivalent of cracked glass that will eventually shatter.

Based on an unfinished play by author Georg Büchner, Franz Woyzeck (Kinski) is a military private who doesn't function well as a rifleman (in the opening title sequence, he is in training mode and keeps failing at his exercises). The bullied, punished private is in the unenviable task of being a barber to his superior (Wolfgang Reichmann), a strict Captain who senses and communicates the lack of morals and lack of goodness in Woyzeck. Woyzeck is no dummy and waxes on philosophically about whatever moral stature he does possess (often startling the Captain) - he may or may not be virtuous but he's still a good man, in his own eyes. Woyzeck has a mistress (Eva Mattes), more frightened by him than anything else, and bore an illegitimate child with her and, though he provides for his family, he knows she is not a saint. And when his Captain and his doctor (Willy Semmelrogge), who uses the willing private as an experiment, imply that she is sleeping around, Woyzeck is deeply unsettled by this and probably a steady diet of peas doesn't help.

It is inevitable what will happen next and the foreshadowing is obvious with dialogue that is shoehorned a little too neatly. Still, "Woyzeck" is often darkly brilliant and completely absorbing. That is a testament to Herzog's masterful direction and perfectly framed compositions - he apparently shot this film in 18 days not long after he completed "Nosferatu." The town itself is bathed in tan-colored tones that paint a colorless community where not much happens, other than some dancing and a lot of drunkenness (in the open greener pastures, Woyzeck assumes something unnatural is about to happen). It is only a matter of time before something brutal threatens it. As for Klaus Kinski, he haunts us and is unforgettable and unshakable. His eyes pierce our soul.  

Happiest of Turkey Days

 PLANES, TRAINS AND AUTOMOBILES (1987)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

For my collective upbringing during the 1980's, writer-director John Hughes was synonymous with "Sixteen Candles" and "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and other teen angst flicks. Whenever someone brought up the name John Hughes, I instantly thought of my teen crush on Molly Ringwald from "Sixteen Candles" and "The Breakfast Club." Now that I have reached the age of 51, "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" is what I think of first (a close second is the vastly underrated "Only the Lonely") and there is good reason to - there are no teenagers in it and it is all about two grown, mature adults who can act immaturely yet both are living adult lives. What's even better is that it is one of the funniest, most energetic and fun-filled comedies of the 1980's and easily would make my list of the ten best comedies of all time. Even better than that, it has Steve Martin at his most obscenely hilarious and John Candy giving us the warmest, most humane performance of his career who still manages to tickle your bone.

Almost immediately there is tension in the air. Neal Page (Steve Martin) is part of a marketing team and the boss can't decide which model photo to use, which makes Neal worried since he has to catch a flight from New York to Chicago and be home for Thanksgiving. If a character like Neal, as played by Steve Martin, would make it home in a jiffy, this movie would be a disappointment. Not so. Neal can't catch a cab without being outrun by none other than Kevin Bacon as a hurried passenger. When a cab is available, it is inadvertently stolen by Del Griffith (John Candy), a boisterous shower curtain ring salesman. It is a case of the dependable running gag for most of the film as Neal keeps running into Del Griffith, whether it is an airport or near one. At first it is on the same flight to Chicago but trouble brews when every flight is cancelled. They stay at a cheap motel where the money from their wallets are stolen! The bathrooms becomes a sloppy mess of wet towels and floor puddles, thanks to Del Griffith. Neal and Del Griffith reluctantly share the same bed where Del Griffith has spilled a lot of beer on the mattress and makes loud gurgling noises to help himself sleep. Then there is the dramatic moment where Neal shares everything he can't stand about Del Griffith - the moment of truth that does hurt Del Griffith who can't help but be who he is. This scene should be studied and revered in master classes on sublime comedy. 

Everything I have described is just the beginning of this chaotic and touching road comedy. There are too many classic, inspired pieces of comedy, too many great scenes. And just when the movie could veer into cartoonish extremes (like Candy as a vision of the Devil, or the faces of Martin and Candy seen as skeletons as their car veers between two incoming 18 wheelers), the drama settles back to earth. "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" has one of the most sidesplitting scenes Steve Martin has ever performed on film as he launches an expletive-laden attack on a car-rental agent (a very memorable Edie McClurg) but that scene does not run on too long and that is the mastery of John Hughes - initially a 3 hour long cut, Hughes and his skillful editor Paul Hirsch ("Star Wars" for which he won and shared the Best Editing Oscar) shape every scene with just enough rhythm before cutting to the next comical moment - brevity is comedy's friend. Nothing feels forced and every scene is maximized by the two genuine talents of comedy for humor and ample dramatic effect. You feel compassion for both men and hope they make it out of their hapless predicaments. Already a staple of required Thanksgiving viewing, "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" is John Hughes at his zaniest, most hysterical and most human.     

Greatest Vampire Film ever made

 NOSFERATU: PHANTOM DER NACHT (1979)

An Appreciation by Jerry Saravia

There are an untold number of Dracula movies and Frankenstein movies - the pair of which probably surpass the number of Hollywood westerns in existence. By my count, there have been three Nosferatu films, one which is in-name only yet all three sort of deal with the famous Count Dracula. Yet it is Werner Herzog's 1979 remake of "Nosferatu" that is easily the greatest vampire film I have ever seen. Atmospheric to its core with a muted palette of grainy colors and muted performances and only the slightest amount of blood on screen, "Nosferatu" is the vampire film where we have more compassion for the famous Count than ever before.

The story based on Bram Stoker is nothing new and it is fairly straightforward in terms of the standard events in its prose, despite changes in mood, text and themes (a necessity when you consider Bram's wife sued the makers of the original "Nosferatu" for copyright infringement). Jonathan Harker (Bruno Ganz) is commissioned to sell a housing property in Wismar, Germany to Count Dracula and travels to Transylvania; a very arduous journey. The frightened Transylvanian townspeople tell him to stay away from that castle. Harker eventually meets the fragile Count and is eventually held prisoner, bitten by the vampire and away we go with the usual shenanigans. The difference here is in the execution of such oft-told material, imagined with realistically conveyed surroundings and a near-documentary look of people (the gypsies seem more real than ever before) and some expressionistic use of shadows (though not nearly as sharp as they were in the 1922 film). This time, though, director Werner Herzog aims for a deeper reality and a deeper hopelessness when it comes to Count Dracula. Klaus Kinski (absolutely magnificent as the Count) shows some layers of humanity in this Dracula with his long nails, bald head, two protruding fangs, and cold, dead white skin. When the Drac sees blood on Harker's finger after clumsily cutting bread, black space surrounds Dracula in close-up whereas in a master shot, there is no black space at all (it is almost as if Herzog is aiming for horror when Dracula is expected to snarl and act like a panther-like creature at the sight of blood). The Count does not act like a creature of the night who relishes the act of sucking blood; instead he's a wounded animal who has been doing this for one century too many. He retreats from sucking Harker's finger yet then proceeds with some nuance of regret. "It is the oldest remedy in the book," says the Count. 

Later on, Dracula fancies Harker's wife, Lucy (the luscious Isabelle Adjani), as is often the case with most versions, but there is something more than a lovely neck to bite. The Count wants to feel love again, which he can't, and to be loved, which he also can't, and this initial confrontation between Dracula and the remorseful Lucy doesn't result in any bearing of fangs - she is initially frightened but she also feels pity for the Count. So when we get to the closing scenes where Lucy holds Dracula in an embrace as he bites her neck all night, you sense Lucy is not just sacrificing herself but also feeling a twinge of attraction to this creature (who also tries to pull her nightgown up to her bosom though she stops him). Considering Lucy loves Harker and they walk on the beach in an earlier, stunning sequence of forlorn beauty, they still sleep in separate beds (you have to wonder if these two ever got intimate at all beyond embraces and sweet kisses).

"Nosferatu" obviously differs from the original black-and-white classic in its slightly monochromatic look - substituting something far more graphic in terms of its grayish scale of soiled, decaying matter. All the actors look, excepting the gypsies, like emaciated automatons who know death is lurking (Lucy with her pale, translucent skin looks like a vampire before she's ever bitten). There is no passion or excitement to the denizens of Wismar. One sad, almost despairing sequence shows the townspeople merrily singing and dancing and dining in the outside town square, celebrating what little life they have left to live after the Black Plague has spread thanks to hundreds of rats brought by the Count. Everything in the film is washed-out, colorless, including the Harker journey to Dracula's castle complemented with music cues from Wagner's towering opera "Das Rhinegold." 

 "Nosferatu" complements and enhances the F.W. Murnau "Nosferatu" and that is an unusual comparison when it comes to remakes. Whereas Max Schreck's Dracula (or Count Orlok depending on which silent film version you see) was a rat-like creature devoid of humanity, Klaus Kinski's is all humanity - a Count who is tired from the repetition of barely living century after century. The curse exhausts him and it is a cruel existence. Dracula recognizes he is still human after all despite being a creature of the undead. Undeniably cruel.

Damn fine movie, if I say so my damn self

 CONFESS, FLETCH (2022)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

When the news was announced that Jon Hamm was playing I.M. Fletcher, a character practically immortalized by Chevy Chase, I was not convinced. Hamm is a solid actor of the "Mad Men" variety and he can be very funny making fun of himself. However, as the intrepid investigative reporter of an L.A. newspaper who often uses various aliases in the hopes of finding the clues to a mystery, Hamm would not be my first choice. There has to be a sense that Fletch is in on the joke himself, that he is purposely a smart-aleck reporter, and a damn fine one if I say so my damn self. Of course, that was the direction aimed in the Chevy Chase incarnations, and that is not quite the depiction from the books. It turns out that laid-back Hamm is perfect for the role. It is also a damn fine movie if I say so my damn self. 

Based on the second book in the "Fletch" series written by Gregory Mcdonald, "Confess, Fletch" finds Irwin (don't call him that) knee deep in trouble from the start when he finds a dead woman in the living room of the Boston townhouse he's staying in. The townhouse belongs to Fletch's Italian fiancee, Angela (Lorenza Izzo), yet Fletch (who mistakenly has his fingerprints on a wine bottle that serves as the murder weapon), is now the prime suspect in the murder. The Boston Police detective Monroe (Roy Wood Jr.) and rookie Griz (Ayden Mayeri) - both a hilarious pair - definitely suspect Fletch after the discovery of surveillance footage showing our retired reporter wearing a blue cap (though from the high camera angle, it is hard to tell if it is a L.A. Lakers hat). The culprit of said murder may tie in to Angela's unexpectedly kidnapped father and a ransom involving a priceless Picasso painting. Then we are introduced to a small gallery of eccentrics like Angela's mother, the Countess (the sublime Marcia Gay Harden); Fletch's clumsy next-door, pot-smoking neighbor (Annie Mumolo), and an art dealer named Horan (further sublimity provided by Kyle MacLachlan) who does some sort of workout to loud, techno music.

There is much more to the plot but the movie thrives successfully on contriving numerous situations with snappy payoffs. Written with quick wit and graceful, sharp notes of absurdity by director Greg Mottola and Zev Borow, "Confess, Fletch" maintains a breezy, informal comic tone throughout. It is not laugh-out loud funny like Chevy Chase's first "Fletch" film but rather it finds its own restrained humor through some histrionic performances and the murder mystery itself which keeps one guessing till the final reveal. Jon Hamm helps enormously with his daftness and poise as Fletch and he turns out to be smarter than anyone thought, though everyone thinks he's an idiot. Lorenza Izzo gets her manic act dialed up to soprana levels but it still works, and you keep hoping she's not a criminal (she loves Fletch after all). Marcia Gay Harden is bewitching and often captivating as the Countess - I love how she tests Fletch's fidelity.  

Despite a couple of supporting characters that stuck in my craw, "Confess, Fletch" is a welcome return to good comic mystery writing and a great introduction to Gregory McDonald's novels. It is not on the same comic trajectory as Chevy Chase's 1985 flick but it flies by with comic precision and tight pacing. A damn fine movie, indeed.

Something Witchy at Ballet School

 SUSPIRIA (1977)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Perhaps for some Dario Argento fans, it will be enough to see Jessica Harper running around dance studio halls beaming with blue and red colors that bounce off the walls. It may also be enough to suggest a witches' coven resides somewhere in this ballet school. Other than the elaborate production design and an obtrusive, loud though sometimes compelling music score, "Suspiria" seems to portend something evil throughout yet it only really picks up steam in the last ten minutes.

Harper is Suzy, a new student at a German ballet school filled with less than savory characters running it. Joan Bennett, in her last role, is presumably the head of the school and there are odd ducks like the stern ballet teacher; the tall assistant server with false teeth due to gingivitis; a cook who must know something about the school as she holds a glinting knife in one scene; a blind pianist with a seeing-eye dog who is fired, and several female ballet dancers who prance across the screen though we never get to know them. We get an early scene of a student stabbed to death and then hung from the ceiling after seeing a black cat's eyes outside her room window. Another student fearing for her life (Stefania Casini), while warning Suzy that something weird is happening at the academy, is later seen falling into a bed of razor wire! Meanwhile, Suzy gets weak and barely dances in this movie, and she keeps falling asleep after drinking wine and sporadically eating her dinner meals. She also confronts a bat and beats it to death. Oh, I can't omit a man whose throat is ripped apart by a dog. I am sorry but these older women at the colony are allegedly witches? They summon a creature that just stabs people with a knife? They summon a dog to eat its owner? Yet the witches supposedly want wealth and power and to achieve it, they kill people. I guess I can sort of see it.

"Suspiria" maintains some level of interest because you wonder what sort of "Omen"-like murder will occur next. You also wonder how many more incoming and random bursts of bright red, green and blue colors you will see in every frame. Only Jessica Harper is wasted in a role that doesn't ask for much except to react to goings-on in the most cursory manner imaginable. The music score by Goblin (an Italian progressive rock band) is heightened throughout the film, right from the opening scene, when in fact underscoring without overstating would've benefitted the film's power. "Suspiria" has a thrilling conclusion, looks and feels urgent in its tense depiction of murderous horrors, but there is not much else here to recall from a narrative standpoint. Once it ends, you'll wonder why the apathetic Suzy didn't just walk out of that school sooner.     

Creature Summoned by Bad Imagination

 CELLAR DWELLER (1988)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Empire Pictures made several low-budget flicks and this 1988 monstrosity known as "Cellar Dweller" might qualify as their worst. Perhaps the ambitious ideas needed more tinkering and maybe creature/make-up effects creator John Carl Buechler, who also directed this, could have shaped scenes more smoothly with the help of a good editor. Either way,  this "Cellar Dweller" is a laugh riot for 2/3 of its running time, and 1/3 a bore to sit through. 

A comic-book artist, Whitney Taylor (Debrah Farentino), is admitted as a new student at an arts colony which is essentially just a log cabin in the middle of the woods with no TV or phone. There are three other residents of this colony, and one of them is older and has a fascination with author Raymond Chandler and detective mysteries (played by a vastly underused Vince Edwards). The other two are the least interesting of the bunch, including a faux performance artist whose balloons, dolls and knives bit would not pass muster inside any arts club. Yvonne De Carlo is on hand as the teacher, though she never has a scene where she teaches, and admonishes Whitney's comic-book art as phony. It turns out that Whitney's drawings summon a demonic beast. So we get quite a few recurring scenes of the monster who decapitates and eats people and has a bloody pentagram on its chest. There is also a required nude scene in a shower, the performance artist herself, who can't find her towel because the beast took it? 

The most enjoyable bit has Jeffrey Combs ("Reanimator") as a 1950's cartoonist who first summoned the creature thanks to a Book of the Ancient Dead. "Cellar Dweller" is junk food moviemaking where a creative idea is not exploited to its fullest and the characters exist in a void. It is sort of enjoyable in a good-bad movie way ("Child's Play's" Don Mancini wrote it and probably should have directed it) but you will forget it as soon as it's over. The creature claims he exists as long as there is imagination - thankfully no imagination allowed a sequel. 

Reject these Hades rejects

 3 FROM HELL (2019)
Reviewed and Bloodily Dissected by Jerry Saravia

"3 From Hell" reminded me of my high school science class when I had to once dissect a frog. It was an ugly dissection and not much fun. Rob Zombie's extremely violent sequel seems to be meaner than the others but not leaner and not much fun. Sure, "The Devil's Rejects" (the best of this trilogy) was a raw, blood-soaked western slasher flick but it was, dare I say, far more spirited in a gruesome, albeit thrillingly bestial kind of way. "3 From Hell" had a lot of potential but it never delivers and it is Rob Zombie aiming for nothing more than excessive violence and complete nihilism. That could be said about the other two films in this grimy series but they had more of an ounce of thought to them than this.

The Firefly family, including the vicious Baby (Sheri Moon Zombie) and equally vicious Otis (Bill Moseley), had been captured by the police and nearly gunned down at the end of "Rejects" (in fact, they should have been dead). Apparently twenty bullet holes in Otis's body is not enough to cripple him or damage any organs. Same with Baby though she barely has any bullet wounds, just a lot of tattoos (are they covering up the wounds?) Clownish Captain Spaulding returns far too fleetingly due to Sig Haig's unfortunate sickness and untimely death. The prison's square warden (Jeff Daniel Phillips) has a dilemma since psychotic Otis has escaped with the help of his half-brother, Winslow Foxworth "Foxy" Coltrane (a snarling Richard Brake), during a shootout which leaves Rondo (a Danny Trejo cameo) dead - a loose end in the narrative since Otis knows Rondo and wishes him death and that is all we get, folks. There's a further dilemma involving the warden's wife and her friend held captive in their home by Otis and Foxy in scenes of such savage brutality that I almost gave up on this movie. The brutality doesn't end there since we have an earlier scene of Baby killing two female prisoners (who were about to kill Baby) by stabbing them relentlessly and removing their intestines. Yuck. Back to the home invasion, a friend of the warden's wife has her clothes forcibly removed and runs from the house only to be stabbed to death by Baby (who of course escaped in an earlier scene with the help of the warden) in a scene far uglier and nastier than Isabella Rossellini's infamous nude scene in "Blue Velvet." There's also a scene where Otis skins a woman's face off, an act mercifully committed offscreen until we get a gory close-up of her face. 

The Firefly siblings and Foxy take off to Mexico where they suspect nobody will discover they are wanted (why does everyone think Mexico is such a safe hideout?) It doesn't take long for anyone to figure out who these murderous lunatics are and you know what you are in for when Rondo's son is alerted to their presence. Just when the movie pauses for some quiet moments, the brutality re-appears and it is as unrepentant as before. I will say Sheri Moon Zombie plays a complete psychopath that reminded me of one of the Charles Manson girls - she gives a freaky, remorseless, eerie performance. Bill Moseley also reminded me of Manson himself though he is not given much to do other than shoot to kill and other grisly murder tactics. I sure hope Zombie ends his Manson Family fascination soon. 

I had hoped for something more from Zombie's possibly last sequel in this series, some more scenes between Otis and Baby would've been sweet (Otis suspects that Baby has changed after 10 years in prison but nothing comes of it). The movie serves up the slaughter and no one is safe and nobody can be trusted. There is no one to root for and, when a character dies, it is hard to care. "3 From Hell" has its blackly comic moments (the discussion about starting a porno studio elicits a few smiles) and there is an unrecognizable Dee Wallace as a prison guard that gave me a smidgeon of sympathy for someone. But the movie is pure nihilism with spraying CGI blood at every corner and in every orifice. I rather dissect a frog again than repeat this experience.

Delightful, empty escapism

 OCEAN'S THIRTEEN (2007)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

So I saw "Ocean's Eleven" once more a while ago, a film I initially
disliked but it has grown on me somewhat. If anyone were to ask me
whether I prefer the Rat Pack 1960 version or the modern one, I would
go with the Rat Pack. I have not seen "Ocean's Twelve" but I am
curious because "Ocean's Thirteen" is a delightful if empty form of
escapism that has no other angle other than to entertain. With a game
cast, I let them roll the dice and, surprisingly, they score.

Steven Soderbergh's newest sequel centers on good old slickster
himself, Ruben Tishkoff (Elliott Gould), who thinks he is buying a
brand new casino with all the expected fireworks until his greedy
partner, Willie Banks (Al Pacino), buys him out and Ruben ends up in
the emergency room from heartache (Willie also names the casino after
himself). All you need to shake things up is the reliable Danny Ocean
(George Clooney) and his merry band of hucksters, slicksters, con-
artists and thieves who have more sleight-of-hand than the old Santa
Fe zine I used to write for, Legerdemain. The idea is to undermine
Willie's whole operation, steal some precious diamonds, and cut his
profits on opening day. Unfortunately, the Ocean's group runs out of
money to stage such an operation and they have to resort to dealing
with a former nemesis, cooly played with ease and laid-back charm by
Andy Garcia.

So we get scenes where Matt Damon wears an oversized nose; the late
Bernie Mac displaying his latest card game; a Mexican factory where
the Vegas chips are made; Brad Pitt pretending to be a scientist who
fears an earthquake is on the way; Al Pacino hooting and hollering;
George Clooney getting teary-eyed at an Oprah episode; a boring
machine that has to simulate an earthquake, and much more. It is all
fun and games, with whiplash editing and flashy direction by Steven
Soderbergh. The actors all show up and give it a relaxed tone that
makes it all the more fun.

None of this preposterous nonsense makes a lick of sense but it is
spirited and has quicker, sharper dialogue than the original 2001
film. The movie is basically a caper film in-name only, since its pure
existence is to entertain the audience and provide George Clooney,
Brad Pitt, Al Pacino and Matt Damon as true attractive movie stars
with flashy suits and cool demeanors. The movie looks, feels and acts
like a cool summer breeze that is unique in its own way. It's glitzy
Hollywood entertainment - the kind you don't see anymore - so go and
enjoy that breeze.

Blooming, delightful romance with barebones plot

 THE MUNSTERS (2022)
Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

The Munsters family from Mockingbird Lane should not be in color or contain color schemes borrowed from "Batman Forever." It should be resplendent black-and-white as evidenced by the last scene of this upbeat, silly, cartoonish if occasionally lackluster effort by Rob Zombie. The last scene is a basic repeat of the opening title sequence from the 1960's TV series and it has zest and pointed humor in the body language of its monstrous characters and high energy, enlivened of course by the music score. Zombie's "Munsters" is sort of fun in a Nickelodeon-show-kind-of-way but the surefire elements are sporadic. What works wonders in this modern update is the wacky relationship between the Munsters.

"The Munsters" film is a prequel to the classic 1960's TV series and it dictates how good-natured vampire Lily Munster (Sheri Moon Zombie) met the dim-witted Herman Munster (Jeff Daniel Phillips), a Monster made out of human parts just like Frankenstein's Monster. Lily never quite finds her man - one of her first dates is with Count Orlok (a delectable touch that is one of the funniest scenes in the movie) - but she responds with such divine longing when she sets her eyes on Herman on a Transylvania talk show that her heart pops out of her chest. Herman is brought to life by a mad scientist and his witless assistant Floop and, before you know it, Herman is a standup comedian telling jokes that went out of style pre-George Burns. He does his obligatory ha-ha routine after telling a joke yet no one is laughing, including myself. The rest of the film focuses on Herman and Lily dating, marrying, going on a honeymoon to Paris while Grandpa Munster (Daniel Roebuck) does his double-takes and eyerolls and sees Herman as a complete idiot. 

There is a wisp of a plot involving the Munsters losing their home (thanks to Herman) and then deciding to head to California to buy a house at Mockingbird Lane. That thread of a plot is about as much story as we are given - it is about as thin as Grandpa Munster's coffin lid. Perhaps if the film involved varied comical, farcical situations, it might have been good, clean fun for the whole family. The situations that formed the TV series are not present here since the movie aims for the romance between Herman and Lily. Aside from Roebuck's vampiric Grandpa and Lester the werewolf (Thomas Boykin), a very spirited con man who's Lily's brother, no one else in this movie is aiming high for inspiration.

Still, I must give credit to Zombie for making me care about Herman and Lily and Grandpa. I did enjoy the first hour of this movie and there is something rather touching and affectionate about this unusual romance (Herman and Lily sing "I Got You Babe" dressed just like Sonny and Cher). Sheri Moon Zombie might overdo her hand gestures (which were fairly minimal in the show with Yvonne De Carlo, a far more sophisticated interpretation) and Jeff Daniel Phillips might be overdoing Herman's likable doofus personality but he never quite embodies Herman the way Fred Gwynne did back in the day - he is more of a sweet-tempered fool than Gwynne's authoritarian presence and deep bass of a voice that evoked an ironic Frankenstein Monster who spouted life lessons like Fred MacMurray did in "My Three Sons." Of course, I should mention Gwynne's Herman wasn't all that bright either. Yet when Sheri and Jeff are on screen together, there is some magnetism there and I love how Lily tries to give everyone a chance - she wants to express love and she loves Herman unconditionally. It is a delightful performance and nobody can say that they have ever seen Sheri Moon depicted this way before.

I recently watched an old "Munsters" TV episode where Herman is hoodwinked into buying a used car that is actually in bad shape. That episode had vitality and the right tone, not to mention beautiful black-and-white photography that served the purpose of incarnating the Universal Monster flicks. The production design in this movie is garishly colorful yet it just barely spoils the fun somewhat - it may as well have been directed by Joel Schumacher. "The Munsters" is a vapid cartoon-like oddity but not a completely bad take on one my favorite shows I watched as a kid. I suppose I expected a lot more than the Nickelodeon full-length version of "The Munsters" with a blooming romance and dated jokes that wouldn't pass muster at an SNL audition. Or maybe they would.      

Harlequin madness

 TERRIFIER (2016)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"Terrifier" is blood-splattered, empty-headed, brutally vicious grade-C junk. Dare I say more? I guess I better even though that is a satisfying summation of what to expect.

The movie begins with a pounding, excessively relentless beat when a news reporter is attacked and has her face and eye ripped out by someone who had suffered just the same. Welcome to the gorehounds of the world who will eat this stuff up, no pun intended. Turns out the disfigured woman who killed the female reporter was the sole survivor of the Art the Clown massacre that occurred in a rat-infested building on Halloween night. Flashback to that dreadfully bloody night where Tara and Dawn (Jenna Kanell, Samantha Scaffidi) are two drunk girls who make all the mistakes no one should ever make in a slasher flick. They see the devilish-looking Art the Clown (David Howard Thornton), dressed in a black-and-white clown costume with a tiny hat, walking around with a trash bag as they are about to enter their car. Do the two girls leave? Of course not, or else we have no movie. These best buds go to a pizza joint because pizza is what you need to relieve drunkenness. Art shows up at the pizza joint, the girls leave (sensible despite one of them taking a selfie with the clown) and then Art decapitates two pizza employees! Why? Who can say. Tara calls her sister to pick them up since they got a flat tire. Cliche number 100 in the slasher film genre. Tara needs to use the bathroom facility, so the pest control worker lets her in the abandoned building where the rats roam the filthy looking facilities. I wish I could say the rats are the worst of it.

You know the rest. One if not both girls will be slaughtered by Art the Clown. There will be much gore that includes Art sawing a woman in half! Ugh! He does it with extreme delight - Art the Clown is best described as a killer mime in that he never says a word nor does he ever wince in pain when he is stabbed or bludgeoned. Tara runs around this building for an eternity, confronting a homeless woman who nurtures a plastic baby doll! There is not one but two pest control workers. It is Slaughterhouse Night.

It is hard to care about the two girls who mostly curse and have no other thoughts in their heads and make stupid mistakes. Dawn is a pure dumbbell. Tara just screams in agony and pain and, when her sister shows up, we get more of the same. "Terrifier" is well-made and very well-shot and choreographed but it is mostly an unscary, nihilistic bloody-entrails-and-severed-organs splatter show. Art the Clown has degrees of menace to him and he has a moment where he nurtures the plastic doll and is hugged by the homeless woman while sucking his thumb. This is fascinating for about thirty seconds until the sadism is cranked up to 11 million units of pumped-up blood. "Terrifier" is never boring but you will not respect yourself in the morning. "Avert your eyes" should've been the subtitle.

Werewolves like their burgers rare

 THE HOWLING (1981)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Smiley face stickers are a clue to a murderin' werewolf, known as Eddie Quist, prowling the streets of L.A. Dee Wallace is the terrified TV anchorwoman, Karen, who has to confront Eddie and it leads to a porno store with a peep show booth! The cops arrive, shots ring out, blood is spilled and it appears Eddie might be dead. Such an opening scene could easily pass as a cheap, junky, exploitative slasher flick particularly in the early 1980's. Don't be fooled because "The Howling" is a nearly goofy horror-comedy with the mildest of serious overtones. It is director Joe Dante playing the game by almost decimating all genre conventions and he keeps the werewolf tongue firmly in its cheek. Ahhh, and those werewolf transformations.

The setting has an otherworldly quality as it is set in a colony somewhere in the California countryside. The supposedly rehabilitative colony owned by a renown therapist (Patrick MacNee) is actually a piece of beautiful scenery occupied by local odd ducks such as John Carradine playing a lonely man who wants to end it all; the local smiling sheriff (Slim Pickens); a peeping tom-type who already looks like a werewolf (Don McLeod), and most memorably a Wiccan-looking nymphomaniac named Marsha Quist, Eddie's sister (Elisabeth Brooks exuding mystery and sex appeal in equal droves), who has her eyes set on Karen's protective husband (Christopher Stone). These colony denizens like to party with barbecue and beers but they also have a touch of the lycanthropy in them - they transform into huge werewolves. They tear your skin, disembowel you and also enjoy sex. What a weird colony! 

"The Howling" is not be taken seriously but there are moments that are more spooky than scary with a grain of wicked humor throughout. Eddie Quist as played by Robert Picardo remains a fearsome killer who doesn't stop from transforming even when acid is thrown in his face - his particular fascination with stalking Karen is never made clear but, then again, it need not be. When he says without a trace of irony, "I want to give you a piece of my mind" and actually pierces his brain - yuck! There is also some funny business with Dick Miller as a bookshop owner with dozens of books on all sorts of subjects including werewolves ("They are worse than cockroaches!"). For inside jokes (other than the placement of books like Allen Ginsberg's "Howl," of all things, and footage of Lon Chaney, Jr. from "The Wolf Man"), there are some nice digs at the world of broadcast journalists pre-"Broadcast News" and dozens of amusing cameos from the likes of Roger Corman to Kenneth Tobey to even cinematographer Michael Chapman who lensed "Raging Bull."  

What works in the film best is the visual imagery of this Californian colony in the woods - it has a sense of the forbidden and is reminiscent of a fairy-tale setting. You half expect to see Little Red Riding Hood in many of the moonlit-night scenes. We hear more howling in the woods than we actually see the superwolves themselves, a clever touch and a budgetary issue according to director Joe Dante. But this helps the film more than it hinders and we get an amazing werewolf transformation of Eddie Quist as his sickly pale skin pops on his forehead and his canine mouth protrudes - easily some of the best effects you will see along with "An American Werewolf in London," which was released the same year.

I shan't leave out Dee Wallace, a remarkably good actress who shows enough vulnerability and flashes of courage in Karen to make us care (though one scene where she reacts to her dead friend leaves a lot to be desired). She holds this movie together along with her then-husband Christopher Stone (who passed away in 1995). Also well used is Joe Dante regular Belinda Balaski as a journalist and photographer who pieces together the mystery of this colony. The werewolves howl on cue and some of them like their hamburgers rare. Really rare. 

Laurie Strode Saga Finale

 HALLOWEEN ENDS (2022)
Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I have taken exception with the "Halloween" sequels for years, if for no other reason other than their underimagined need not to exploit the supernatural possibilities. Lord, they have tried. Blumhouse's "Halloween" trilogy that began in 2018, 40 years after the John Carpenter classic, has taken on a new approach. With the exception of a glorified cameo by Jamie Lee Curtis as the PTSD-stricken Laurie Strode in "Halloween Kills," the approach was to expand Laurie's character and to show her as an aged Ripley in action. She can't get past the trauma of that dreaded Halloween night in 1978 and had turned her house into a death trap (the one inspired touch in the 2018 reboot). Comparing the first two chapters in this newfangled trilogy is like comparing a ripe banana with an over-rippened black banana. Yet "Halloween Ends" (clever title) is far superior to either sequel and has many twists and turns that I didn't see coming. This time, Michael Myers has the glorified cameo.

The opening sequence is a stunner. A young teenager named Corey (Canadian actor Rohan Campbell) is babysitting a rambunctious kid who loves watching John Carpenter's "The Thing" (nice touch echoing the original with its 1951 counterpart) and loves to scare everyone on Halloween. We are all entitled to a good scare, and Corey gets locked in the attic by the kid. Finally Corey kicks the door open only to accidentally kill the kid who falls to his death. We cut to opening titles and it is startling how this movie begins - they had me at male babysitter with no Michael Myers. Where is this movie going? What is happening? These are good, rare questions to ask when it comes to the umpteenth Michael Myers slasher flick. 

Laurie Strode does return in more than just a glorified cameo. She is writing a memoir of her trauma-laden days surviving Michael Myers' endless attacks and she is just as winning a personality as she ever was - in fact, this Laurie flips the bird and curses like a sailor. She's living with her granddaughter Allyson (Andi Matichak, maximizing her potential in a terrific performance) who works at the hospital with a mean boss (yeah, you can guess what might happen to her boss). Corey, meanwhile, works at his father's auto salvage yard and is trying to come to grips with his own past trauma (the town's residents hate him), only he doesn't handle it well AT ALL. Let's just say that Corey has a run-in with Michael Myers who has been hiding for three years and hasn't killed a single soul (not even the homeless man who lives near the dank sewers beneath the bridge). Michael Myers did not kill anyone in three years? Say it ain't so, Mikey. He also looks like a phantom of his murderous self who has problems walking around (this does happen when you are an immobile 60-plus-year old) and keeps a dirty, blood-stained knife in a brick wall. 

So Corey has trauma issues, doesn't get along with his parents, yet is falling for Allyson! Laurie Strode is single, still facing neighbors who hate her for somehow resurrecting Mikey Myers and his body count, albeit in a figurative sense, and may have a thing for the sheriff's deputy (Will Patton, in an even more abbreviated role than the previous installments). Laurie also understands what Corey is going through, initially tries to counsel him yet senses imminent danger ahead with this troubled kid. Allyson is drawn to Corey and wants to escape Haddonfield - everyone is afflicted by the the town's past murders and can't seem to move forward. Cue the Haddonfield DJ who has no qualms waxing on about those gruesome murders.

I will not reveal what occurs in this highly entertaining and sublimely paced sequel and that is not something I ever expected to say or write about this endless franchise. Suffice to say, director and co-writer David Gordon Green has taken the reins and unleashed a lean, mean and, dare I say, psychological thriller with slasher tendencies. Those slasheroos are hardly as gory as the previous entries and I was still in shock and awe as to how it ends. The Laurie Strode Saga is over and I am actually sorry to see it end. It is signed, sealed and delivered with visual echoes of the original 1978 shocker final montage, another splendid touch. The formerly grief-stricken, sardonic Haddonfield heroine, Laurie, has been through enough.